


5 Times It Was Better to Be Captured With You & One Time It Really Wasn't

by Fairyglass



Series: Fluff Bingo Q1, 2019 [8]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: 5 Times, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 14:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairyglass/pseuds/Fairyglass
Summary: Being a member of the Stargate Program means getting yourself jammed up into a lot of difficult situations.  Sometimes it's angry locals, sometimes it's hostile forces - sometimes it's each other.  Here are five times SG Members were better off being captured together than not, and the one time when it really might have been better if maybe they hadn't been.





	1. Sam & Jack vs the Locals

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [DW's Fluff Bingo](https://fluffbingo.dreamwidth.org/), Q1 2019
> 
> Square: With You

“There were three of you. Where is the third?!” The man in his rough-spun uniform clacked the painstick against the bars for emphasis.

Technically speaking, there were _four_ of them, but if this guy can’t count, Jack isn’t about to help. He and Sam are in this half-priced hoosegow while Teal’c and Daniel are still roaming the countryside, no doubt looking for an opportunity to spring them loose. He just has to buy them some time.

O’Neill chances a glance over his shoulder. Carter’s there, expression neutral with hands loose at her sides. He shrugs at her, she shrugs back at him, playing their parts. He swings his attention back around to the guard with more shrugging. “There was me, there was her, and you got us both. Congratulations!”

With a snarl, the guard sets the Goa’uld device against the bars, electrifying the entire cage. Even without touching anything directly, it doesn’t feel pleasant. The air sizzles, tingling painfully over exposed skin. Both Jack and Sam flinch away from the edges, coming together in the middle. He slides his arm over her shoulder and she puts hers around the front of his waist. It might look tender, but in reality, each is poised to throw the other to the ground and provide cover. Jack rolls his eyes, but on the inside. It reminds him of that first time they'd ever encountered a Jaffa grenade, blinding them all - and she'd bit him because he'd been fool enough to get his hand too close.

“Carter?” O’Neill whispers gently, but not without a touch of indulgent humor. 

“Sir?” Her eyebrow arches. _’No YOU let go,’_ it challenges. This time he rolls his eyes on the outside, too.

The guard removed the painstick from the metal, pleased with himself at how they recoiled. “You will tell me what I want to know.”

“Doubtful,” Jack retorts, pulling his hands back from Sam and fitting them to his hips. “I can’t tell what I don’t know, and trust me, there’s a _lot_ I don’t know.”

The guard spends a moment looking confused. Jack takes the opportunity to beam at him.

“Enough. You will talk!” He reaches for the cage’s lock and Jack watches with interest. When he’s just about to pop the door open, though, he sets the painstick back against the bars, making the fillings in Jack’s teeth ache.

The guard is reaching for the primitive sidearm at his belt, the one that had lulled them into the false sense of security until the leftover Goa’uld tech had come into play. But before he can raise the pistol all the way up, from behind Jack, Sam bursts forward in a measured hop, Karate Kid Crane Kicking the guy directly under the chin.

“Carter!” Jack shouts, startled. 

The guy flies back, painstick falling away from the cage and pistol spinning across the dirt-packed floor. He scrambles to sit up, clearly disoriented and uncoordinated, but Sam lands on his chest with her knee and decks him straight across the prow. 

“Nice,” Jack says with genuine appreciation.

She looks back over her shoulder, flicking her head just enough to get her bangs out of her face. “Sorry, sir, there wasn’t time to explain.” In the silence of not having his life threatened, Jack can dimly hear some sort of loud, shouty commotion happening outside.

Jack steps out of the cage and kicks the painstick across the room, wincing down at the guard. “That’s going to leave a mark,” he notes with a vague gesture towards the man’s face. Already a livid, purple bruise is beginning to blush his cheek.

“Sir, I saw Daniel signal--” As if on cue, Daniel cuts back into the building through a loose slat in the wall, zat raised. He blinks to see them free. 

“Uh, ready to get out of here?” He throws a thumb over his shoulder.

Clapping a hand to Sam’s shoulder, Jack gives her a quick nod. “Always a delight to be captured with you, Major Carter.”

“Likewise, sir,” Sam grinned back lopsidedly.


	2. Teal’c & Sam vs the Jaffa

With a hand in her hair, Sam blew out a weary breath. “This gets old, fast.”

“Indeed,” Teal’c agreed, his back to her as he stood with arms folded across his chest. He was acting as a body shield while Sam worked on the cell’s door panel. 

Or, she was trying to. It was crystal technology, but just right of center from what the Goa’uld used. The Benari had done something to it in the interim between their slavery, their rebellion, and then their appropriation of the infrastructure left behind. It was only almost familiar. Shaking herself, she dropped from her reflective posture and shoved both hands back into the guts.

“I’ll get it,” she tried to say with confidence, looking to convince as much as reasure.

“In that, I have no doubt, Major Carter.” Teal’c lifted his chin in pride before smiling down at the woman. It wasn’t even bravado or false reassurance; it was genuine and absolute and when Sam cast an eye up, expecting to see the curve of his mouth in its approximation of a smirk, what she sees is his tenacious faith instead.

“Teal’c,” she says with a hesitant, appreciative grin. He dipped his head, the respect palpable.

It made her lift her own chin and then set her shoulders back. But the smile that tugged at her mouth was humbled.

Just inside the 10-minute mark, where it had been blissfully silent and no O’Neill demanding “Carter?!” or Daniel imploring ineffectually, “Is there anything I could do to help?”, Sam said, “Okay, stand back. I think I have an idea? But it could… catch fire. So.” She moved a few other crystals into new slots, already feeling their minute vibrations building up through her fingertips.

He arched an eyebrow at her, and while he took the requested step back, the line of his body was taut.

“Here goes,” and she crossed what she suspected to be the main power source of the door’s mechanism with a secondary relay she’d now overburdened with scavaged diodes. Sure enough, a wash of sparks showered over her hands followed by the distinct pop of crystal’s shattering from the inside out. She had just enough time to flinch away before Teal’c was yanking her backward by the scruff of her field jacket.

They both looked to the door as it slid open.

“Yes,” Sam said under her breath, accepting Teal’c’s hand up. She wanted to thank him, for giving her the luxury of time to work through it instead of piling onto the urgency she already knew was there. But they also had to move fast if they wanted to get out of here, and sentiment would have to wait. 

She held onto his hand a moment longer than necessary, squeezing it a bit. He looked from it to her eyes and dipped his head again. They broke contact to peer out into the corridor. All clear.

“We should do this more often,” Sam whispered, easing around the corner and out into the hallway. 

“It is always preferable to be captured with you than O’Neill,” Teal’c said, surprising Sam. She blinked wide eyes over her shoulder and there, now, was that tug at his mouth. The smug smirk of his humor that only peeked out around the edges of his stern personality. “You shout much less.”

She had to bite down on a laugh, but it was still bright in her blue eyes. “Thank you,” she says, the humor rich in her voice. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Indeed.”


	3. Rodney & Carson vs the Genii

“This is bad, isn’t it?” Carson’s accent is thicker than usual, making “isn’t it” more like “inn’et”, which might be considered charming if they weren’t in handcuffs locked in a cell.

“Well it isn’t good,” Rodney muttered sourly, eyeing the one Genii left to watch them. When he’s captured with Sheppard, they’ll leave four to six guards. He’s insulted by their vast underestimation of him

“Those people really are sick, though,” Carson says, babbling just a bit as anxiety starts to settle around him. “Why would they stop us to capture us if I was already treating their people? Their… secret people. We didn’t know they were Genii, right?”

“No,” Rodney bites out, and maybe feels a twang of sympathy for every time Sheppard or Teyla or Ronon have told him to shut up. But that gives him the beginning of an idea. “If we’d known, we would have told them to go to Hell!” He raises his voice at the end, flinging his vitriol at the guard.

Carson’s eyes go wide, looking between the guard and McKay. “Rodney,” he whispers, the R a rough burr in Rodney’s ear as Carson leans into it. “Don’t make him angry!”

“And why not? _I’m_ angry! This is stupid!” He’s still shouting for the benefit of the guard who finally designs to look back at them with a narrowed regard. 

“Yeah, you!” Rodney continues to taunt. “This is stupid and you’re _certainly_ stupid, and I understand that that stuff Beckett was smearing around smelled like dog vomit, but it was also helping that rash everyone has--”

“It’s not a rash, and it doesn’t smell like vomit,” Carson can’t help but correct. “They’re more like pox, what with the pus. And it’s the sulfamethoxazole that’s so pungent. Well that and the pus--”

Rodney comes full stop to make a horrible face at Carson. “No, just. Don’t help. God.” Turning away with a shake, he dives back into his rant against the guard, bringing himself up against the bars. “Right, pox pus. Great. Sounds delightful. So why in the world would you capture us before we were even finished?”

“Doctor McKay,” the guard says in a low, measured tone. Rodney knows that tone: it’s the sound of someone whose skin he’s getting under and now they’re trying very much to ignore him. Still, Rodney also grins; at least the single, lone guard knows his name.

“It’s more convenient if you’re together, but I’ll separate you if you don’t shut up.”

“What, you’ll put me in time out?” Rodney snorted, taking a bar in each of his cuffed hands.

“I could also shoot you,” the guard said in clipped restraint and Rodney snatched his hands back like the bars suddenly turned to lava.

“You wouldn’t have captured me too if I wasn’t valuable,” Rodney predictably reminds him, pugnaciously lifting his chin. Behind him, Carson just sighed beleaguered.

“Nonlethal, of course,” the man says coldly, his resolve cracking just that fraction over a cruel smile. He stepped up to the cell, a threat, a challenge, looking McKay over.

Rodney's eyes rolled with an easy dismissal. “You think I’m _more_ quiet when I’m injured? Then you’re even dumber than I thought.” The smug down slant of his mouth mocked the Genii as Rodney stared him down. “Which, if I’m being honest: my opinion of you wasn’t all that high to begin with.”

Carson plead to the Heavens. “Rodney! Be quiet!”

“Yes, Rodney, be quiet.” The guard reached for something in a belt pouch, causing both McKay and Beckett to flinch back. But it wasn’t a pistol, it was a wad of cloth and Rodney guessed the man was going to try and gag him.

Okay. Here came his chance.

Slotting the key into the lock, the guard carefully swung the door closed behind him and bared down on Rodney. But Rodney met him halfway, exploding full force into the man’s sternum with his shoulder. When he staggered back, wind punched from his lungs, Rodney leaned back before smashing their foreheads together.

“OH GOD,” McKay shouted, eyes immediately crossing. The guard crumpled to the ground with a groan. He wasn’t out yet, though, so Rodney delivered a swift kick to his temple. He made sure to use the flat of his shoelaces, and not his toe, the way Ford had taught him years ago. There was one last, desperate sound from the guard, and then he was still.

Rodney staggered back, his vision blurry and tear-filled. “Ronon makes that look so simple!” he cried. “Carson? Carson! Am I bleeding? Is my face broken?!”

Jaw hung open, Carson didn’t know what to make of what he’d just seen. “You… you did all that on _purpose_?” He reached up with his own cuffed hands to steady Rodney who was staggering around in uneven circles.

“I think I have about five concussions,” Rodney said in a thready whine. He watched Carson’s face as the doctor gave him a cursory check over. “Am I bleeding? Are my pupils uneven? Is my nose broken? Will I need stitches?”

“You look ambulatory,” Carson concludes, steadying Rodney one last time before patting the guard down for keys. He unlocks himself first, then Rodney.

“I should really….” Carson beings, looking over his shoulder towards the guard while Rodney gingerly touched his forehead. He’s going to have a huge goose egg. Ronon never gets huge goose eggs from headbutting people.

“You should really leave him alone because he’s a bastard that was hauling us off to the underground, radioactive gulag?”

“But he could be--”

“Fine. He’ll be fine.” Rodney took Carson’s set of cuffs and, with his own pair, cuff up both the guard's wrists and ankles behind him. With no small amount of flourish, he also uses the gag meant for him.

“C’mon, we have to find Sheppard.” Rodney touched his forehead one more time with a wince before taking Carson’s elbow and steering him out of the cell.

“You know, I have to say: that was really quite impressive, Rodney. I never would have thought you--”

“Yes, I’m magnificent.” Rodney locked the cell behind them, tugging on it to make sure it engaged before he pocketed those keys, too.

“Colonel Sheppard or Teyla, certainly Ronon, but you?” Carson grins, shaking his head in disbelief.

Rodney paused to give Carson a hard, narrow-eyed glare. Carson belatedly realized his words and clapped Rodney on the shoulder in appreciation. “Good thing I had you with me then, eh?” His big smile is too little too late.

“You’re welcome,” Rodney said dryly. He looked left then right, not seeing friend or foe. He motioned for Carson to follow him out, muttering, “Hmph. Bet they’ll never leave just the one guard on Doctor Rodney McKay again.”


	4. Teyla & Daniel vs the Lucian Alliance

“You’re Teyla Emmagan,” Daniel said, extending his hand towards her.

“And you are Daniel Jackson,” Teyla returned with a warm smile, accepting his gesture. “It is good to finally meet.”

“Yeah,” Daniel shrugged gently, heading cocking to the side. “I knew you were on board, I’m just sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances.”

“What are you doing?” Altello demanded incredulously. He finished yanking Teyla out of her holding cell, thrusting her straight into Daniel’s chest. The Lucian reminds them, “We’ve stolen your ship! You’re prisoners!”

“Sure,” Daniel says casually, making sure Teyla has her feet before letting her go. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be polite.”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Altello looked frustrated and vaguely confused, dark eyes narrowing dangerously towards the archeologist.

Daniel smiled tightly, looking from Altello to his two armed companions. “Right,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

The Lucian motioned with his oversized firearm, setting Daniel and Teyla between their trio to walking down the hall.

“Where are we going, exactly?” Daniel asked after a moment, glancing over his shoulder.

“Enough!” Altello said in exasperation, coming forward to bash Daniel in the head with the butt of his weapon. Daniel braced himself, raising his arm, but before Altello could make contact, Teyla had dropped down and swept-kicked him mid-step. 

The unexpected momentum crashed him into his companion, making a sudden tangle of their arms and legs and weapons. Teyla sprung up and somehow hooked herself around the second guy’s waist, spinning them into a quick, sharp arc, and cracking his head straight into a bulkhead. She relieved him of his weapon as she stood straight, finishing Altello off with a bash of her own.

Daniel and the point man simply watched in stunned silence. When she stood up straight and frowned between Daniel and the remaining guard, Daniel took his cue. A swift punch to the stomach had the guard doubling over, then a knee to his head had him out on the ground.

He bent to take up a weapon while they listened intently. No one seemed to have heard them.

“Well,” Daniel said with no small amount of admiration in his voice. “That was thoroughly unexpected.”

“He was rude,” is Teyla's matter-of-fact declaration. She looped the weapon’s strap over her smaller frame to balance it.

Daniel wants to laugh but instead vowed to review AR-1s mission reports for more than just encounters with Ancient technology. He's clearly been missing out. “I’m glad you’re on our side,” he says with a grin.

Teyla smirked. “Colonel Sheppard says that often.”

“I can see why.”

Looking down the short hall, Teyla jerked her head. “We should hide them in the cell.”

“Right,” Daniel readily agreed, reaching down to grab Altello by the shirt collar. “Come on, buddy. We have a ship to steal back.”


	5. Vala & Cameron vs Followers of Ori

Vala stood from where she was sitting but doesn't make to catch Mitchell when he’s thrown into the cell with her. There are four guards total -- two to throw, two to watch and she knows her odds against that. Cam hits the floor soundly enough that Vala spares him a wince.

He lays there until they leave, then rolls onto his side with a groan.

“Well,” Vala says, squatting beside him. “This is some rescue.” She gives him a quick glance over: some dirt smudges, a bruise along his jaw, but nothing too bad. “Where’s Daniel?”

“Don’t know,” Cam sighed, patting himself down vaguely.

“Where’s Sam?”

“Don’t know,” Cam repeats, working his jaw.

“Where’s--”

“Don’t. Know,” Cameron says with a rough exasperation, blinking hard once before staring Vala down.

She tuts at him before joining him back on the floor, arms winding around her knees. He works his jaw some more before he’s satisfied it isn’t going to seize.

“This isn’t my fault,” she announces, chin angling up.

Mitchell gives her another hard look, the difference in opinion bold in his face.

“What was I supposed to do? Just let that girl die? Let them _burn her_?” Vala has a hard look of her own for Cam, her eyes suddenly damp. 

Who knows what the infraction against Ori had been, but the girl was no older than ten and in shackles so heavy they pulled her down and Vala had launched herself from the bushes as the armed group had marched passed SG-1’s hiding spot. Vala had taken down one of the guards in her surprise attack but was very quickly overtaken. Jackson had gone down too, trying to get Vala out, but then Teal’c and Carter had secured the child and Mitchell had yelled at them to get her out and Sam’s hard-bitten grimace and the girl’s huge, terrified eyes over Teal’c’s shoulder as they ran back into the treeline were the last things he really remembered.

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, he looked away, into a corner of their cell. He’d told her, told them all, to hold position. He knew how unpopular an order that’d been, but they were here for intel only. They couldn’t risk it. But then Vala had reason to be sensitive to the idea of being burned alive, didn’t she. And really, if it hadn’t been her it would have been Jackson to spoil the play. Always his problem children.

Vala dashed her hands across her eyes before taking a deep, bracing breath, putting the moment away for later. “I know you don’t know, but do you have any idea where the other’s _might_ be? Are we waiting for a rescue, or should we get out of here on our own and find them?”

To that, Mitchell sighed, a long sound pulled over his teeth. “Carter and Teal’c are out there somewhere; Jackson went down with you, so the fact he’s not in here can’t be good. We should get out of here if possible, meet up with Sam and T, find Jackson.” Which was easier said than done, but it was a start.

“How many guards do you count?” Reaching up into her hair, Vala was searching for something in the thick mass. “Four came with you, but only one was watching when it was just me.”

Cameron shifted a bit, looking out into the corridor. “One? Maybe two. I can’t tell. Guy has his back to me.”

“Lucky us, then.” Pulling out two bobby pins and her rhinestone barrette, Vala slid herself quietly across the floor to lean backward against the bars. “I almost had it when I heard them bringing you in.” 

With deft, silent hands, she maneuvered all three pieces of metal into the lock, working the tumblers and pins. It’s was an awkward position to hold and would be much easier if she wasn’t trying to do it inconspicuously, but Vala is very good at what she does; she’s stolen spaceships and monarchies, an iron-rough jail cell is hardly a challenge. It took a few moments, but eventually, there were a series of muted pings and an indistinct click before she gently eased the door open. Cameron watched with an appreciative expression.

“Distraction?” she asked, clipping the sparkly accessory back into her hair. They both know they can’t just walk out.

He nodded, laying back on ground approximating how they’d thrown him in.

“Hey?” Vala let her voice wobble, pulling herself up by the bars to stand. “Hey! Hey, guards? My friend! He’s-- oh Gods, please! He’s-- help him! Please! Hurry!” She pitched a sharp panic into her voice.

It’s two, her original jailer and one left over from Mitchell’s detail. They looked surprised, coming down quickly. The one reached for the door and was shocked when it swung forward in his hand.

“Hello,” Vala said with a smile, throwing herself flush against it to swing open. It effectively pinned him between the wall and the door itself, creating a push/pull scenario where he has zero leverage but all the upper body strength and she all the leverage, but less in the way of a dedicated strength training regime. Still, she managed to hold him in for now.

The second guard scrambled to pull her off, but by then Cameron has launched himself from the floor, quickly punching him into submission. Pulling Vala out of the way, Cam hauled the first guy out of his confined space and ran him into the bars a few times, letting the metal do most of the work for him.

Breathing hard, Cameron regarded his handiwork with a dour expression. Vala offered him a high-five. He couldn't help but snort while obliging.

Vala frisked them for anything useful after Cam drug them back into the cell. She found multiple sets of keys and took them all while Mitchell liberated them of their weapons.

Handing Vala one of the forked-staff weapons, he held onto it a moment longer, making her look up at him.

“Hey.”

“Yes?”

“You did the right thing,” he says after a moment of hesitation. She narrows her eyes, face angling down.

“About the girl,” he explains, his voice low. “Sam and Teal’c got her out. You did the right thing. You were right. This isn't your fault.”

She took the weapon with a shrug, but her voice was thick. “Yes. Well. Let’s find the others and go home, shall we?”

“Sounds good to me.” He rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment before taking point.


	6. Jack & Rodney vs the Wraith

The Wraith had given them a smile too full of teeth before sweeping out of the holding area. A flick of his wrist pulled the three drones behind him in his wake, so confident were they in their superiority. That kind of smug certainty always pissed Jack O’Neill off.

He walked the perimeter of the holding cell, its slick and pulsating walls a disturbing addition to the shit show. “So,” he said once back to the front. “This is going well.”

“Oh yes,” Rodney folded his arms. “Just peachy.”

“Well," Jack signed. "Get to it.” And he waved magnanimously towards the webbed door.

Rodney looked around the cell before looking back at O’Neill. “Get to what?”

“Getting us out of here.”

Stunned, Rodney stated the obvious. “I’m on the _inside_?”

“And I’m supposed to be on vacation, but we’re all adapting.” Jack turned towards the man, motioning between him and the door again.

Rodney used both hands to break the single word into two resentful parts. “In. Side. What part of that are you missing here? Also - vacation?”

“Yeah. Sorta.” Jack shrugged, turning to examine the webbing closer.

“No, you’re supposed to be doing onsite evaluations.” 

“Like I said,” Jack shrugged again, tugging on the surprisingly rigid framework for something so… moist. “Vacation.”

“Well, _General_.” Rodney made the rank sound like an insult. “Welcome to a Wraith hiveship. That isn’t just a Master lock you can jimmy open with a file. It’s a highly advanced form of biotech that, in part, only responds to Wraith telepathy. Do you have telepathy? Because I don’t.”

Jack arched an eyebrow sharply in Rodney’s direction. “I used to, once.” He shook the door, testing it. When McKay just stared at him, he clarified. “Telepathy. Used to have telepathy. Well, sort of. And it was only for a few days. It’s complicated. But it probably wasn’t the same… frequency, or whatever.”

None of that cleared anything up for Rodney, who narrowed his eyes in a confused glare.

“Never mind. Just get on it already?” Jack gestured again towards the door, like McKay was just being picky about things.

“Evidence to the contrary, I can’t actually do the impossible!” He gesticulated with wild abandon. 

Casting a casual appraisal over Rodney McKay, Jack concluded dismissively, “Carter could do it.”

Rodney made an inarticulate sound of bitter frustration, hands fisting at his sides. “Are you--! Did you honestly just--! Because that--!”

Jack waited, legitimately curious where McKay was going to go with this.

He thrust a finger in Jack’s face, then thrust it towards the ceiling before shooting it towards the door, McKay’s mouth all the while working silently in his red face. Jack tilted his head to the side, still waiting for the infamous barrage.

A discordant alarm interrupted, each of them casting their eyes up before out into the corridor as it filled with a rush of bodies. They were mostly drones, but the distinct staccato of multiple P90s was familiar enough to O’Neill and McKay both.

“Here!” Carter shouted, securing their position outside the cell as she dispatched one last wraith.

“McKay?” Sheppard rushed to the door, peering in.

Rodney eagerly answered, “Yes, here!”

“Where’s--” But then John saw O’Neill and nodded briskly at the General. “Give us a moment, sir.”

“Carter!” Jack’s bark was filled with ten-plus years of unnecessary explanation.

“On it,” she said readily, clipping her weapon to her vest and drawing out her field knife.

“Told ya,” Jack said smugly, slapping at Rodney’s chest with the back of his hand.

Rodney’s eyes rolled so hard they could have fallen out. “Outside!”

Sheppard covered her as she stabbed at what she made to be a juncture box. “To the left,” Rodney supplied, watching from the cell’s door. “Sever the red and blue… wires.” He carefully didn’t say veins. Sam gave her knife a quick thrust and twist and then the webbing was curling itself back into the wall.

“The others?” Jack stepped through, hand out for John’s sidearm. Sheppard handed it over without hesitation.

“Teyla and Lorne are securing the jumper; Ronon’s keeping the path clear.”

Carter held her own Beretta out to McKay who blinked at it for a moment before realizing he was supposed to take it.

Ronon jogged up, weapon held at an angle in front of him. “It’s clear, but we have to move. Now.” The alarm was still loud overhead.

John motioned for Ronon to take point, nodding an exchange with Sam that he’d take the six, locking her to the middle with the General and McKay.

“He wanted me to open the cell,” Rodney muttered over his shoulder to Sheppard.

John just sounded confused, muttering back, “But you were inside?” 

“Exactly!” There is both triumph and scorn to Rodney’s harsh whisper.

“Carter got it open.” Jack shrugged with a detached arrogance. 

“I was on the outside,” she reminds him.

“You would’ve gotten it.”

“Inside!” Rodney shouted. “Outside! These are not difficult concepts!”

“I’ll shoot you all if you don’t pipe down.” Ronon’s gruff voice carried over them as they moved down the body-scattered mist-filled corridors. 

“I prefer Teal’c’s version of disapproval,” Jack dropped into Sam’s ear.

She couldn’t help her grin. “Silence?”

“Indeed.”


End file.
